The fault that most people will find with this story is that it is unconvincing. Its scheme is improbable, its atmosphere artificial. To confess that the thing really happened–not as I am about to set it down, for the pen of the professional writer cannot but adorn and embroider, even to the detriment of his material–is, I am well aware, only an aggravation of my offence, for the facts of life are the impossibilities of fiction.